Envy
by Moony3003
Summary: After a late night meeting with a superior, Crowley faces a jealous lover. Rated M. Slash. Don't like, don't read. Please Review.


Disclaimer: Nothing of Good Omens belongs to me.

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A/N: To any Twilight fan that reads this, I'm sorry if you're offended. I haven't read the books myself but it seemed an easy target. That's why I used it.

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Envy

The cool English air was still and silent. It was almost three in the morning and nothing had yet happened. The moon sat high in the silky ivory blanket surrounded by millions of tiny stars that twinkled ever so brightly. But their beauty went ignored by the only person out and about on the dark streets.

A 1926 black Bentley sat undisturbed on the side of the wide street, the tinted windows dark enough to prevent anyone from seeing inside. The night stretched on, seemingly without end and the patience of the being inside the car was rapidly wearing thin. The contact he was meant to meet here was late. Six hours late to be exact. It was unlike her to keep him waiting this long. Usually she arrived before he did if their previous meetings were anything to go by.

The contact was a fellow demon and not one he needed trouble with which was why he continued to wait. If it had been almost anyone else he would have left after only ten minutes of arriving. After a faint sigh of impatience, he mentally cursed himself for being honest. She wasn't really a contact. It was his boss. Well, one of his bosses anyway; definitely one that mattered. It was her opinion that the high superiors listened to.

The driver's side door opened and a leg appeared. The being gracefully got out of the car and closed the door, the thud sound going unheard. He moved forwards, the soft clunking of his snakeskin shoes audible against the concrete road and a proud smile crept on his face as the car shone beautifully even in the dull light.

But he didn't leave the car. He hopped onto the hood, bringing up one leg, the foot leaning on the grill while his arm rested across his knee. Despite the darkness he didn't remove the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes nor the black driving gloves that concealed his hands even though it was something he normally did on exiting his vehicle.

Slowly, the time passed and his patience was almost gone. The thread that held it together was on the other side of London, in a bookshop, probably reading a first edition and drinking a hot cup of cocoa. The thought of him made an odd feeling twist in the pit of his stomach but he pushed it down and ignored it as he still waited, his eyes lingering over the nearby businesses and houses that were dark.

When a slight breeze picked up, it made his head turn ever so slightly to the side as though spotting something he didn't want to startle. A knowing smile played upon his lips for a few, brief seconds before it vanished. Finally, the contact had arrived.

"Crowley..."

The demon jumped off the Bentley's hood and turned towards the sound of the voice that had called his name. Metres away, beside a brick building that housed a laundry mat, a plume of white smoke materialised from nowhere and a slender feminine figure walked through, heading directly for him.

"Lilith," he greeted in the most pleasant tone possible.

The female demon walked over, the flowing blood red hair floating on the breeze behind her and the thick heeled boots pounding against the ground. As she approached, Crowley looked up and down her appreciatively, once; only once. He'd dared not look too much for fear of receiving her wrath which had happened on more than one occasion.

A set of formidable black wings extended from between her shoulder blades; mutilating the human form she'd taken to make it possible which always made Crowley smile in amusement. Some demons just weren't content with a complete human body. Thick black tentacles protruded from her back, covering the necessary parts and when he glanced back up to meet her eyes, fiery red orbs glared back, reminding him of the fires of 1703 [1].

"I trust our plan is on track," purred Lilith, her tone bordering on dangerous.

"Of course they are," responded Crowley casually, leaning against his vintage car. "Don't trust me?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Lilith replied flatly. "I don't. You should be grateful that my superiors have complete faith in you, for lack of a better word..."

"I'm flattered," drawled Crowley.

"...but don't get a swelled head. I'll be watching you, closely. Make sure that damn angel stays out of the plan this time."

Lilith turned sharply on her heel and stormed back in the direction she'd come from, the black wings jerking and smoothing out which each step as did her hair. Another cloud of white smoke appeared and enveloped the higher ranking demon, making her vanish.

"Sure," Crowley muttered, pushing himself off the car.

The demon hopped back into the vehicle, the door making a loud thud as it was closed. Crowley just sat there for a moment, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. The comment about his angel wasn't appreciated. As of yet, Crowley hadn't divulged the information about this plan but perhaps it was time he did. With that in mind, he sped off at a speed much higher than the limit towards his destination. He had somewhere to be and he was late.

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By the time he reached the bookshop in Soho, dawn had just broken; an orange haze spilling up passed the horizon. The vintage black Bentley skidded to a halt at the curb just outside the door and the occupant jumped out, barrelling into the shop, the bell above the door ringing cheerfully.

But the angelic face he'd become accustomed to seeing wasn't there. A sense of need pounded in his chest, pushing any worry he felt aside. Nothing seemed different which eased him slightly. The treasured first editions were neatly stacked against the back shelf, the shop maintained its ill-lit, unhealthy look from the main light above that wasn't screwed in properly and contained the wrong type of bulb and the stale smell of moulding pages and light scented musk were detected.

Moving through the book piles with expertise, Crowley entered the back room. But the face he needed to see wasn't in there either. The demon sighed, his shoulders slumping dramatically. It was unlike the angel to be out leaving the shop unlocked or unguarded. It was then that a new, different smell caught his attention; smoke. It was smoke. In two strides he was at the back room window and in the tiny backyard he saw him, along with the plumes of thick grey smoke that billowed into the air.

Crowley wasted no time in heading outside, lingering by the door for a moment while he took in the scene. A tall figure stood metres from him, dressed in white pants and a blue tartan shirt, with a tin of gasoline in one hand. Three books lay at his feet while one appeared a few feet in front him, burnt to a crisp. A bemused look painted Crowley's features and as he walked ahead, a book from the pile was picked up and thrown forward onto the burnt grass, copious amounts of gasoline following it.

"Aziraphale, why are you pouring petrol over those books?" asked Crowley when reaching the angel's side.

"I'm planning to burn them all," was the simple reply.

Crowley shifted in his stance. "I thought you said you'd never burn a book since all literary forms have some beauty to them at heart."

The angel placed the tin on the other side of his feet once he finished pouring and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of matches. "I was wrong." The first match sizzled to life and he dropped it onto the offending book.

The impact was instantaneous. A powerful whooshing sound filled the air and flames of yellow and orange danced in their faces. The pink and white flower on the book cover shrivelled, turning into ash, the words New Moon the last to do so. Crowley's face fractured in a mixture of hilarity and bewilderment. The books were not something he had or would ever read himself but he knew that for Aziraphale to do something this drastic, they had to be bad, beyond bad.

"What was it exactly that made you hate them? The blasphemy it contained?" asked Crowley curiously.

"No," drawled Aziraphale in an almost bored tone of voice. "Mary-sue characters, sparkling vampires, unrealistic plot, rabid fan girls," added Aziraphale, contempt entering his voice.

"You bought the books just to burn them?" asked Crowley, knowing that the angel wouldn't want the shame of having those anywhere near his collection.

"Yes, that's exactly what I did," admitted Aziraphale. "And I've greatly enjoyed it."

"I can see that," noted Crowley, taking a step back.

He let Aziraphale finish up what he was doing before placing an arm around his angelic counterpart and leading him back inside. The back door closed on its own accord, locking with a solid click. Aziraphale shrugged Crowley's arm off his shoulder and stepped into the kitchenette while the demon sat down at the round table, scoffing at the purple tartan table cloth. Even after all these years the angel hadn't changed. The belief that tartan was stylish still held strong.

Crowley lounged in his seat, enjoying the relative calmness that overwhelmed the room. The peace was different than the one that he'd waited in earlier. The previous one had been filled with impatience and faint traces of anxiety. It stemmed from why his boss had wanted to meet in the first place. Meetings didn't occur all that often and they usually only did when an operative was in trouble. But it seemed all she wanted was to warn him, which was, of course, pointless.

With nothing obstructing his view, Crowley watched as Aziraphale prepared a pot of tea. It was one of the angel's favourite beverages, although he couldn't really see why. It was mildly pleasurable but that was about it. At the present moment he was favouring something a little stronger but he said nothing. It could wait until later.

"You know there's a new plan in action," said Crowley, breaking the silence.

"I'm not surprised," commented Aziraphale. "What is it this time?"

"Well..." Crowley trailed off, unsure of how the angel was going to take the news. "It involves the big four. A few of my people want to lure them into a trap and have themselves a little angel bonfire."

The white kettle thudded onto the kitchen counter as it slipped from Aziraphale's grip, the demon's words shaking him to the core. On the spot, he spun around to face his demonic counterpart, their eyes meeting, Crowley's invisible from beyond the dark sunglasses. The angel walked over and sat beside him, settling his hands on the table, palms down.

"I want to be crystal clear on this," started Aziraphale, licking his lips slowly. "You're saying that the highest ranking demons have some idiotic plan to lure the four archangels into a trap and kill them?"

"Basically," admitted Crowley with a slight shrug. "I wasn't going to mention it since there's no way in hell it's going to work but, I might as well. We share everything else, the good, the bad and the downright unwise."

Silence embodied the room once again as Aziraphale seemed to think something over in his head before getting back to his feet and to the tea. Once made, he went back to the table and placed one cup in front of Crowley who thanked him with a nod of his head and Aziraphale retook his seat again. After the first sip, the questions came.

"What's your role in this plan?"

"To keep outsiders from finding out, I guess," replied Crowley, shrugging, unsure of the role himself. "I'm doing quite well, only told one person."

"That's it?" asked Aziraphale.

"I'm squeamish," said Crowley, knowing what the angel referred to. "I took the easiest job out of the bunch."

"I'm sure," said Aziraphale knowingly. "So, are you late because you met up with a few others demons to discuss the plan or something?"

"No, just my superior," corrected Crowley.

"Which one?" asked Aziraphale, his tone bordering on testy.

The knot building in Crowley's stomach twisted violently. "Lilith," he muttered, not wanting to utter her name.

The calm atmosphere vanished, replaced by an icy stillness that even Crowley wasn't expecting. He anticipated the news would go down badly but not quite this much. The wooden legs of the chair Aziraphale sat on skidded roughly against the floorboards as the angel rose to his feet and walked into the kitchenette, leaning over the sink.

Crowley inhaled deeply before joining him, standing inches away but not daring to reach out and touch him. The angel's shoulders moved up and down steadily but the unnecessary heavy breathing told him that he wasn't happy. Quickly, Crowley searched for the right words to say, not wanting to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.

"It was a quick meeting," said Crowley gently. "She kept me waiting over six hours and then all she did was warn me to not let you in on the plan and she left. That was it."

"You're late because she was late?" questioned Aziraphale. "Not because you were busy doing something else?"

"I promise," said Crowley in the most sincere tone possible. "I know you think I have a wondering eye and would like to score with every hot thing around but you're wrong."

"So, it's her and several others then?" asked Aziraphale, turning around, his blue eyes blazing daringly.

"That's not quite what I meant," said Crowley, backing away slightly. "The meeting was over in a couple minutes. You're worried about nothing."

The angel left the back room in a huff, shoulders tense and breathing laboured as though trying to keep his emotions in check. The demon rushed into the bookshop after him and grabbed his shoulder, making him turn around. It was then that Crowley saw it. The angel's cheeks flushed with a deep pink and his blue eyes seemed too watery. It wasn't just anger that the angel was feeling.

"It bothers you," stated Crowley.

The blush deepened. "I honestly don't know what you mean," Aziraphale murmured, turning away slightly.

"Aziraphale," said Crowley sharply, following the angel's movements in trying to catch his eye again. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Ridiculous," the angel huffed, his tone not as firm as he would have liked. "I am an angel. I'm incapable of experiencing envy."

"But gluttony, greed and lust you have no problems?" enquired Crowley, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

Aziraphale suddenly looked as though he were about to do a scarily accurate impression of Michael in full smiting mode. "I refuse to stand here and listen to these absurd accusations."

Crowley sighed in the most exasperated fashion he could manage as Aziraphale turned away from him again, trying to put distance between them. But Crowley was having none of it. With swift proficiency he yanked his driving gloves off and let them drop to the floor as he pushed Aziraphale around, his back hitting a bookshelf, unable to stop the force of Crowley pushing against him. The books rattled but remained in place. His hands gripped Aziraphale's shoulders tightly, allowing his nails to dig in.

Their lips met in brutal kiss, the demon's hot lips meeting the angel's cool ones. The passionate kiss seemed to last a lifetime and without breaking it Crowley's hands found Aziraphale's tartan shirt and with one good tug, the buttons gave way instantaneously. The weak protest that followed went ignored as Crowley had moved on, his hands fumbling with the button on Aziraphale's white woollen pants. When the impatience ran out, he ripped it open and pulled the offending material down, breaking the kiss and smiling smugly as the angel groaned and jerked his hips when his knuckles brushed his rising erection.

"No underwear," noted Crowley in a teasing voice. "Someone was waiting for me. Perhaps I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer."

The pink on Aziraphale's face deepened even further, turning it a shade of purple that rivalled the tartan table cloth in the back room. As his mind came back to him and the haze lifted, Aziraphale tugged at Crowley's clothes, groaning impatiently when they refused to budge. But Crowley still had other ideas. He slapped the angel's hands away and slid his arm across the nearest table, clearing it of books that all thudded to the floor in a messy pile. At Aziraphale's horrified look, Crowley didn't wait long enough to him to get any words out and pushed him onto the smooth surface, crowding him in seconds with another searing kiss. He didn't want another repeat of the last time he'd been careless with Aziraphale's books [2].

In the blink of an eye, the demon's clothes vanished and his hands were on the angel, pinning him down with one hand while the other moved downwards. Aziraphale's blue eyes raked over the pale leanness he was given, his mouth watering at just the thought of tasting it. With the idea lingering, the angel attempted to get closer, wanting to latch onto one of the nipples and suck until Crowley begged for mercy. But the hand on his chest still pinned him down, keeping him in place, denying him his desire.

Skilled fingers wrapped around his member, making his hips jerk for the second time and he threw his head back, feeling himself harden to fullness as they stroked his length slowly, teasingly. When the fingers slowed, he looked back up, confusion filling his eyes. He watched as Crowley removed the hand from his chest and slicked it with saliva before reaching down to stroke his own manhood. The demon's dark sunglasses slid down his nose revealing the yellow slitted eyes dilated in pleasure.

From experience, Aziraphale knew what was going to happen. His demonic counterpart was going to take him dry and unprepared and he knew why. It was a dominance thing. It was so he could feel it for days afterwards and remember who he belonged to. Crowley always did this when doubt was thrown in his face, something he'd done earlier with his worry about the meeting with Lilith.

Slicked up and ready to go, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's legs and threw them around his waist as he moved forwards, lining himself up with the angel's entrance. With a quick thrust of his hips, the demon was inside, pushing past the wall of muscle to get in deeper. Aziraphale's face constricted in pain as the intrusion continued without pause and he gripped at the table, his hands turning stark white from the pressure. Crowley's hands went to Aziraphale's hips and he held strongly, pulling the angel up and down, making his body sink onto his member time and time again.

But soon, it wasn't enough. Crowley's hands stilled, holding Aziraphale in place and his pace increased with each passing moment. The healthy sound of skin smacking against skin and moan after moan filled the air as did the intoxicating scent of sex and sweat. The angel's tight heat was quickly becoming too much to bare. Whipping his sunglasses off, Crowley dropped them and focused his eyes on Aziraphale's face. The angel's blonde hair stuck to his skin from the sweat seeping from the pores on his scalp and his features was contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain, his blue eyes only half visible under the lids and his lips were swollen and bright blood red.

The sight alone made Crowley ram harder into his lover and he bent down, capturing Aziraphale's open mouth into a long kiss. He removed his hands from Aziraphale's hips and gripped his face, wanting the kiss to last. Unable to hold on, Crowley clenched his thighs and his hips took one more thrust and he came, spilling into Aziraphale's body and grunting in his mouth. Breaking the kiss, he rode out his orgasm and gripped Aziraphale's erection once more, stroking the length in a rapid rhythm.

The angel cried out, bucking his hips to match the demon's strokes and within six, he spilled over the edge, the thick white liquid dripping over Crowley's hand and his own stomach. Crowley planted several lazy kisses all across Aziraphale's face before withdrawing from his body and standing up straight, his legs a little wobbly.

"I'm surprised," said Crowley after cleaning himself and Aziraphale up.

"About what?" Aziraphale questioned as he dressed.

"You didn't seem to mind the people walking by the shop," said Crowley, hiding his smile as turned his back to the angel and headed for the back room, his mind settling on something stronger to drink.

Aziraphale froze in his tracks, his hands going slack on his shirt and he looked to the front door, his eyes widening. From where he stood he could see people walking past, going about starting their day and all the colour drained from his face as horror set in. He couldn't help but wonder how many people glimpsed their show or overheard everything.

* * *

1) They had been hot and dangerous and not just in the pathetic city that burned.

2) It had taken a total of one year, five months and thirteen days to earn the angel's forgiveness. He'd been manipulated to do several... righteous deeds and to this day he still bore the scars to prove it.


End file.
